The heart of the best woman is pitiless toward the sorrows of a rival.

Milady opened the letter with eagerness equal to Kitty’s in bringing it; but at the first words she read she became livid.  She crushed the paper in her hand, and turning with flashing eyes upon Kitty, she cried, “What is this letter?”

“The answer to Madame’s,” replied Kitty, all in a tremble.

“Impossible!” cried Milady.  “It is impossible a gentleman could have written such a letter to a woman.”  Then all at once, starting, she cried, “My God! can he have—­” and she stopped.  She ground her teeth; she was of the color of ashes.  She tried to go toward the window for air, but she could only stretch forth her arms; her legs failed her, and she sank into an armchair.  Kitty, fearing she was ill, hastened toward her and was beginning to open her dress; but Milady started up, pushing her away.  “What do you want with me?” said she, “and why do you place your hand on me?”

“I thought that Madame was ill, and I wished to bring her help,” responded the maid, frightened at the terrible expression which had come over her mistress’s face.

“I faint?  I?  I?  Do you take me for half a woman?  When I am insulted I do not faint; I avenge myself!”

And she made a sign for Kitty to leave the room.

36 Dream of vengeance

That evening Milady gave orders that when M. d’Artagnan came as usual, he should be immediately admitted; but he did not come.

The next day Kitty went to see the young man again, and related to him all that had passed on the preceding evening. d’Artagnan smiled; this jealous anger of Milady was his revenge.

That evening Milady was still more impatient than on the preceding evening.  She renewed the order relative to the Gascon; but as before she expected him in vain.

The next morning, when Kitty presented herself at d’Artagnan’s, she was no longer joyous and alert as on the two preceding days; but on the contrary sad as death.

D’Artagnan asked the poor girl what was the matter with her; but she, as her only reply, drew a letter from her pocket and gave it to him.

This letter was in Milady’s handwriting; only this time it was addressed to M. d’Artagnan, and not to M. de Wardes.

He opened it and read as follows: 

Dear M. d’Artagnan, It is wrong thus to neglect your friends, particularly at the moment you are about to leave them for so long a time.  My brother-in-law and myself expected you yesterday and the day before, but in vain.  Will it be the same this evening?

Your very grateful,
Milady Clarik

“That’s all very simple,” said d’Artagnan; “I expected this letter.  My credit rises by the fall of that of the Comte de Wardes.”

“And will you go?” asked Kitty.

“Listen to me, my dear girl,” said the Gascon, who sought for an excuse in his own eyes for breaking the promise he had made Athos; “you must understand it would be impolitic not to accept such a positive invitation.  Milady, not seeing me come again, would not be able to understand what could cause the interruption of my visits, and might suspect something; who could say how far the vengeance of such a woman would go?”